Gym Mouse

Hi PingPongs,

I haven’t been to the gym in two weeks and I feel like blob. I work in extremes, so when I’m not at the gym, I’m ripping my cabinets apart looking for a stale granola bar or a dry piece of pasta to gnaw on. As I mentioned previously, my roommate and I spent about $75 on ice cream in the past week and a half. This is after a three week stint of working out every day and drinking lots of juice that claims to be healthy but is more or less rotting my teeth out of my face.

Speaking of rotting teeth, I also found out I love the Snickers Squared Peanut Butter bars. I didn’t even know I liked Snickers. I blame the Easter Bunny. Any kind of chocolate that comes in an egg shape tastes 300x better than in its regular form. I’m sure there’s studies on this somewhere.

I’m not particularly fond of the new trend of drinking only liquids and working out four hours a day until your body is completely chiseled. I think I would be suited better for the 80s or 90s where my zero percent muscle tone was appreciated, even revered. I do feel gross when I don’t move around much though. My head gets foggy and I’m convinced my dyslexia triples in severity. Speaking is hard enough but when I’m sluggish and unfocused, I might as well just hang a little chalk board around my neck like the swan from The Trumpet of the Swan. Maybe I could just get a trumpet and do morse code with it. Again, extremes.

Even though my gym is in the same parking lot as my work, by the time 5pm rolls around I’m ready to go home and toss myself across my bed. I keep telling myself that I’ll get up early and go to the gym before work, but then I start thinking about how tired I might get throughout the day if I go too early. Then I don’t go after work because I figure I’ll go home and go to sleep to wake up early to go to the gym and it just goes on and on and long story short I should probably cancel my membership. They DO have TVs with basic cable and they have towel service so I’m essentially paying them to do laundry while I watch TV.

We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go and meet a hunk and he’ll carry me out to my car and buy me Snickers OR maybe the gym’s security personnel will escort me out and tell me to stop submitting requests for a new vending machine and also stealing the towels.

I don’t steal the towels but if they ever cross me, I KNOW I COULD.

Okay, I love you. smoochsmooch xox

A Very Winkel Wednesday

A Very Winkel Wednesday

It’s that time of the week again!

Winkel Wednesday!

Go check out all the silly things Mr. Winkel is doing in his down time.

http://mrwinkel.tumblr.com/

My Dirty Love Child

That sounds like I’m giving birth in a 3 foot plastic tub, naked, with my adolescent children swimming around in the after birth.

BUT NOT SO! It’s a weird project I’ve entangled myself in.

I love these guys.

Enjoy!

Or not.

It’s pretty shitty. But that’s what makes it good?

Okay, bye!

Mama’s Gotta Brand New Tooth

Hey skeebermeisters!

I got me a brandy-new tooth in my face hole.

I realize that I have many face holes, but it’s in my biggest face hole with the rest of my teeth.

Following a 3 year diet consisting of 6 cokes and 2 Hot Pockets a day, one of my teeth rotted out into oblivion.

I swear I have nice teeth otherwise, this was in my “tween” years where my essential bodily upkeep was not up to normal standards. Unless you consider glittery eyebrows and white eyeliner normal.

I can’t chew on that side of my face for week. I chew aggressively so hopefully the right side of my jaw doesn’t turn into one giant beefed-up muscle.

I’ll take pictures if that happens.

Until next time, scuba boobs!

Please Haunt Me, Greg Giraldo

I’ve had a talent for willing bizarre things in my life. That includes both good and bad.

Some include:

  • Getting my favorite comedians to retweet me or mention me on a podcast.
  • Getting caught in the middle of a shootout.
  • Dancing around as a Van Halen girl on a movie set for 5 hours.
  • Having a homeless guy chase me through a parking lot and jangle his junk around while pointing at me.

All  instances that I followed coincidences to get to.

I like the idea of synchronicity and every time I’ve followed it, I’ve come out the other end with some sort of story to tell about it.

Greg Giraldo, an awesome comedian, keeps popping up.  In conversations, books,  and on TV. More than I’ve ever seen before, especially considering he died three years ago. I can’t turn a corner without someone mentioning him or some outlet referencing his stand-up.

It’s great, but it’s becoming unavoidable.

So I pulled up some video from his tribute special on Comedy Central. There’s a small segment of him describing his stand-up as “puckish.” I instantly thought of Puck from the Real World circa 1994. That and a Midsummer’s Night Dream poster with Michelle Pfeiffer on it, that hung in my 8th grade English class.

My ability to retain information has gone down since a six month stint in college, so I looked up “puckish.”

Essentially: “playful, in mischievous way.”

An adorable way to describe his comedy.

Then I thought to myself, I wish Greg Giraldo would haunt me and be my spirit guide in the world of comedy.

I thought on it for a while and thought of all the fun adventures we’d have.

Then I went and packed my crap up to go gym.

About ten minutes later, I went outside and opened the driver side door of my car and leaned across it. I threw my gym back to the passenger side, my ass is hanging out the door.

PSSST!

I turned around and looked at my house, thinking maybe my mom was trying to get my attention. Nothing was there.I turned back and started to climb into the car, ass still hanging out, I heard it again.

PSSSSST!

I turned around again, embarrassed, thinking someone was making fun of my ass and I hadn’t been sharp enough to catch them the first time. I turned back to the car.

PSST!!!

I looked around again, at the door of the house, the windows, the neighbors houses, behind the cars. I felt like an asshole. Was someone playing a joke on me and my ass?

It wasn’t an animal, there was no one around, and I haven’t smelt burning feathers recently. It sounded like someone was trying to get my attention.

Awfully, PUCKISH, amiright?

I scrambled into the car, locked the doors, and drove on the lawn.

Could this be another stepping stone on the synchronicity trail?

I’m going to meditate more on this and I’ll let you know if I conjure up anything else.

Until next time, fart-ners.

Animow

I’m wearing a jacket and leaned my elbow on the desk and it made a farting noise. Hehe.

But back to Animows. Today I was sitting at lunch, eating my second bowl of fiber cereal, which isn’t the best tasting, but it’s cereal and no one can just eat one bowl, unless you’re a witch.

I got to thinking about how fitness trainers and diet planners say not to reward yourself with food, because you aren’t an animal. Pardon me, while I hate all of that and drink a gallon of smashed up McDonald’s french fries. Firstly, yes I am an animal and secondly, I don’t think I want to know a person who doesn’t treat eating like a reward. That’s the whole point. Sure, it sustains life and that’s great but that only comes second to how fantastic shoving your mouth full of soda and strawberry doughnuts and pouring chocolate syrup down your face feels.

That’s how I start my day. I reward myself for getting out of bed and going to work by stopping at a coffee place and getting the largest vat of mocha iced coffee they have. If I didn’t do that, I’d be crying at my desk all day. Useless, sad, alone. But with my scrumpsh reward, I can somehow find the strength within me to live and do things like check my Facebook and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race and answer phone calls.

Another point is, it’s April. Everyone knows that April is the crusty butthole of the 12-month calendar year. It’s April, it’s raining, and it’s a Tuesday. Monday’s are better than Tuesday because you know they are terrible. Wednesday means we got through the bad part, Thursday means we can say YAY TOMORROW’S FRIDAY LET’S DRINK, and Friday means we get to sleep in Saturday. How can a person even live through a Tuesday without rewarding themselves with gourmet microwave popcorn their mother planted in a movie theater butter popcorn box because she’s a dirty trickster.

I see no other reason than to celebrate food and be enslaved by it’s glory.

Until next time, Wondersluts!

Yes, Pigs Do Have Bank Accounts

Hey. Hi. How are ya?

Good. I’m happy. I sucked down a bunch of coffee and I’m wearing a men’s tank top because fuck the establishment. I’m not really sure what that means because I had a meatball sub yesterday instead of going to the gym because that’s all that matters.

Am I crazy? I don’t know, do pigs not have 401Ks? I think the proof is in the partridge in a pear tree.

But back to my tank top. It’s of outer space, which I’m feeling resentful of, but it has kittens riding slices of pizza. Nothing has ever felt so right.

Still with me? Good. Enjoy that beef ravioli.

Until next time, chapstick lovers!

 

Dude, Where’d My Face Go?

Hey my Cabbage Patch Squids,

I think I may be having an identity crisis, but mainly just at my gym.

Every time I walk in and buzz my little card at the scanner, I get greeted with “HEY! You haven’t been around lately!” by one of the staff members. What? No! I was here yesterday and you said the same thing to me then. Maybe they’ve mistaken me for someone else? I smile and lie “I know, right?!” and I head over to the boxing area.

“Hello! How are you?!” asks a lovely woman I’ve maybe smiled at once or twice when she looked in my general direction.  Is she talking to me? She’s staring at me. Maybe she remembers me from the last thirty sessions we’ve had together? I haven’t answered her yet. Oh God. “Um, hi! Good! How are you?” Maybe she does remember me and she’s being friendly. There are a lot of new people here today.

“How’s your shop doing?” she asks as she wraps up her hands. I don’t have a shop, do I? Did I tell her I had a shop? Have we spoken before? Is there a woman who looks exactly like me and coincidentally comes into boxing every time I’m not there and talks about her shop? I wonder what kind of shop it is. Does she sell doughnuts or scarves? Thankfully the instructor started shouting drills at us so I couldn’t answer, and I made sure to ignore and avoid all eye contact for the next 45 minutes of class.

As the instructor was calling out drills, I saw him do a double take of me out of my peripheral. Oh Lord, unwanted conversation in three…two…

“Hey! How are you doing? You’ve been out lately.” Guh. No I haven’t. Who are you people? Who am I? What’s happening here?

I just kept smiling and answering his questions of my whereabouts. “Oh, you know,  just busy.” Nope, I’ve been here the past three days. Right there, on that treadmill and over there on the yoga mat and right here, right now for my example tomorrow when you don’t realize who I am. This does bring attention to all the times he called all the other girls names out in class and then stared at me and said “and you.”

It began to dawn on me that maybe I’m just another face in the crowd, easily mistaken for anybody and everybody else. “I just saw your sister!” I don’t have a sister. “How was the swim meet?” I don’t own a bathing suit. I’m beginning to see myself as a body with one of those fencing masks on. Nothing distinguishable, nothing unique.

But I am, I am! I yell in my mirror as I outline my lips with black lip liner and toss glitter into the air. I’m different! Look, a big nose! And look, a lazy eye! How are these things not jumping out at you? I mean, my nose is practically touching your face, sniffing all those little invisible hairs.

I think my quarter-life crisis has been rearing it’s over/underqualified, resume-hating, attention-wanting head.

I’m a Piss-Bitch

Hey flarpnarbs

I’m in a real piss-bitch mood. I had 2 cups of coffee and 4 cups of tea, now I’m crashing and trying to chase the high with a little shit ton of macaroni and cheese. It’s not working.

I’ve been hunching over my laptop with my neck sunken down and my head up like a friggen Skeksis. I’m terrible at getting the plates to spin all at once, so now that I’ve kept up with the blog, I’ve totally neglected writing outside of it. Then when it’s 3am and I’m laying in bed with a bag of M&M’s in each hand and a M&M funnel shooting down my throat and I’m sobbing candy-coated tears, I realize I’m not famous because I haven’t been doing shit with myself. Fuck. Sigh.

I’m also looking at a nail polish color called “Fuchsia Bling Bling.” What the fuck does that even mean? Am I missing a cute and delightful reference in my blind piss-bitchery? Either way I think I’m going to bring the iPad to the gym so I can watch the X-Files and work on my glutes simultaneously. That’ll really cheer me up.

Until we meet again, my little Maroon Shing Shing’s.

“Too Personal”

Another rejected list. Too personal? Puh-shaw, asshole-y intestines are a common problem.

Quotes Plastered Around My Gym’s Wall and My Immediate Reactions

TRAIN HARD OR GO HOME.

“Mom, I’m home! Ooh Spongebob Mac&Cheese, my favorite. ”

MAKE YOUR SOMEDAY TODAY.

“Make your sundae today? Mmm sundaes.”

LEAVE NOTHING IN THE TANK.

“Oh, I did that one! My $300-a-month membership leaves me little to no money for my tank. I walked here. Are those my feet that are bleeding?”

A GIRL KNOWS HER LIMITS, A WISE GIRL KNOWS SHE HAS NONE.

“That piece of intestine hanging out of my asshole? That’s for bitches. Watch me bench press this 5lb box of Twizzlers.”

YOU CANNOT OUT TRAIN A BAD DIET.

“HA. How dare you underestimate my ability to create an algorithm that produces the number of miles , rounded to the nearest hundredth, needed to run to maintain my weight on a diet of  Funyons and Coke. Frankly, I’m insulted.”